


I Feel A Sin Comin' On

by wunderlichkind



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cowboy Roger, F/M, Rodeo AU, country
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-06-22 09:02:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15578385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wunderlichkind/pseuds/wunderlichkind
Summary: Brianna is a college student. Roger is a rodeo rider. When they meet, neither of their lives go on as planned.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I've somehow been roped into writing a multi-part fic AGAIN.  
> Yes, it features Roger as a cowboy (YASS).
> 
> This is loosely influenced by "The longest ride". The story will not follow it's arc closely though - you've been warned.
> 
> Title is a reference to the song of the same name by the Pistol Annies.

She feels a little out of place when she steps out of her car and onto the dusty parking lot in Pincher Creek, Alberta. Looking around, everyone here seems to have dropped right out of a cheesy modern western film and she’s glad Gayle made her wear a pair of cowboy boots.

„Brianna! Are you coming?“ Gayle calls out to her. She grips her camera tight against her chest and walks around the car to tackle the masses.

It’s her first rodeo and it is something she would have never come to on her own, but their college paper is running an article and Gayle needed a photographer. „I can’t use stock photos on this,“ she had said, „they’re all terrible. I need some of your magic. Please, will you come?“ And as it goes with Gayle, Brianna could never turn her down.

The dusty heat carries an unexpected feeling of excitement and urgency that Brianna is completely unprepared for. It swallows her whole within the first quarter of an hour and she catches herself feeling giddy and whooping along soon after the rodeo starts.  
Joy and tension wafting between the spectators grip her so tightly, she nearly forgets why she’s here. When she remembers her camera, there’s an abundance of pictures waiting to be taken. People in the audience, wearing cowboy hats and boots and sunglasses, excitedly cheering on their favourite rider, bouncing on the edge of their seat in suspense.

Riders getting thrown from their horses or holding on for dear life through their wild bucking, faces screwed tight in concentration, muscles pulled taut, fringe on the chaps drumming a quiet but erratic rhythm in contrast to the horses’ drumming hooves.  
Eight seconds have never felt longer to Brianna, never more intense, even as she switches to photographer mode, drowning out the loud world and focusing on images only.

That’s how she meets him, catching his eye through her lens, his chest heaving with exertion, his look a mix of concentration and the first traces of heady triumph.  
She had a hard time keeping her feet still during his ride, the horse throwing him around like a leaf in the first fall storm. The zoom on her camera telling her of strong arms and legs, of well-practiced balance, of a fierce determination set in the strong lines of his stubble-coated jaw.

There’s a split-second that he looks straight into her camera, his eyes burning with intensity and she’s mesmerized – so much that she nearly forgets to take the picture.  
When his score is announced he jumps, throwing his hat into the air in triumph. The hot summer breeze picks it up and carries it a few feet only to release it right at the fence between arena and audience, mere inches from the toes of Brianna’s boots. Instinctively, she bends down to pick it up but when she waves it in his general direction, he’s already gone.

„Rodeo trophy!“, Gayle yells over the signal for the next rider and with a wide grin plucks the hat out of Bree’s hands only to deposit it on her head.

„There. Now you look like a true country gal!“

Gayle is interviewing,or rather flirting with, a group of rodeo riders and Brianna’s standing a little to the side, nursing her second beer when she spots him. He’s tall and stands out even more now that the crowd has thinned considerably. Before she realizes what she’s doing, she’s moving toward him, driven by an instinctive pull originating somewhere between her heart and her feet. When her brain finally catches up, it is joined by a nervous flutter in the stomach.

But it’s too late to turn around now because she is Brianna Fraser, after all, and she’s anything but a wuss and also her mouth is faster than her brain.

He stops walking when she calls out and waits for her to catch up to him, the hint of a smile on his face.

„Hey, I... uh... I have your hat,“ she says, awkwardly holding it out to him.

_Great, Fraser, what a witty opening line._

„Aye, I can see that,“ he grins, his green eyes sparkling. For a moment, she’s stunned into silence by his accent. It’s one she recognizes from the faint echo in her father’s voice and it’s one she would never have expected to hear at a rodeo.

„You’re _Scottish_?!“

„Ah well, yes.“ He looks at her curiously, his forehead wrinkled with thoughts she can not read on his face. „Roger MacKenzie,“ he adds after a few seconds and extends his hand towards her.

She takes it, his big palm engulfing her long fingers in a firm, warm handshake. „Brianna Fraser.“

He’s easy to talk to. It scares her a little, how easy. Roger is nothing like the cowboys she imagined, and yet, despite his calm demeanour, despite his Scottish lilt, he fits into this rodeo world perfectly. It shows in his relaxed stance, in the way he greets people occasionally, but mostly in his words. He talks about rodeo like it’s his life, but at the same time like it’s the most normal thing on earth, just another job – his job.  
Brianna tells him about her engineering studies, about the architecture internship she’s applied to and hopes to get next semester.  
They talk about her Scottish father and his Canadian uncle, who took him in after his parents died in a car crash.

She thinks she might drown in his deep green eyes and she wonders what it would feel like to bury her hands in his wavy hair. She wants to taste the stubble on his cheeks, which surprises her, because she’s not usually one for quick crushes.

It’s one of those late summer days flimmering with the heat, when everything feels either lazy or ecstatic, sometimes both. Time stretches endlessly and if not for the sound of the crickets - audible now that most of the crowd has left - Brianna barely notices how late it is. Gayle is calling for her from the other side of the field, close to the bar, and Brianna shoots Roger an apologetic glance, hoping it carries through the descending darkness.

He sighs. „Well, lass, it looks like ye have to leave.“ She nods. „It was very nice meeting you.“  
„Will ye at least let me take ye out sometime?“ he asks and she’s surprised again by how much she wants this.

„Call me,“ she says, and hands him her phone so he can put in his number. He hastily digs in his pockets for his own phone, while Gayle’s shouts are getting closer.

„There you are, Bree! I’ve been looking all over for you!“ Gayle tosses her arm around Brianna’s shoulders and then hiccups.

_Oh well. She clearly didn’t spend all her time on interviews._

„And who’s that?“ Gayle asks suggestively and looks Roger over from head to toe.

„Roger MacKenzie, Miss,“ Roger says and holds out his hands for her and it’s so Southern Charm, Bree can’t help but laugh.

„Okay, Gayle, I’m taking you home,“ she says and grips her friend a little tighter in anticipation of some staggering.

„Are ye gonna be okay? I could give ye a ride.“

„Oh no, don’t worry. I’m good to drive,“ Brianna reassures him.

She feels his eyes following her across the nearly empty field towards the parking lot. It’s a tingling feeling, one of anticipation and maybe something more, low in her belly. It sticks with her, even after she’s made sure that Gayle is safely home and has crawled in her own bed.

If anything, it gets more intense. Especially after she reads his answer to the hurried text she’s sent from the car.

B: _I still have your hat._

R: _Keep it. Looks much better on ye._


	2. Chapter 2

Roger MacKenzie looks like a true Canadian cowboy the day he comes to pick Brianna up for their first date. The sound of his boots echoes off the dorm walls and, like a mating call, draws several of its inhabitants into the halls to admire the way his jeans hug his ass and his rolled up shirt sleeves stretch around his biceps.

He’s carrying a small bouquet of wild flowers and it’s evident that he’s nervous by the way he constantly drives his hand through his hair.

„No cowboy hat tonight?“ Brianna grins when she opens the door of her shared dorm room to him.

„I gave it to a pretty girl,“ he answers, and with a wink and an adorable faint blush, hands her the flowers. She takes a moment to really look at him, to appreciate his blue checkered flannel and the jeans (tight in all the right places), the way he’s combed back his hair but the sides are already a little disheveled.

„Thank you,“ she says finally, smiling, and adds: „Let me just put these in water and then we can get going.“

He takes her through the _Humpty’s_ drive through and they buy enough food to last them three dates. She teases him about his choice of dining, trying to tickle out some information on what he’s planned for the rest of the evening, but aside from the tips of his ears turning red and a very Scottish, throaty sound she doesn’t get anything out of him.

The cab of Roger’s truck is warm and comfortable – she instantly feels safe in it, at home, wrapped in a cosy cocoon of pancake and waffle smell, the worn fabric of the seats and the low background mumble of the radio. They don’t talk much while he drives them out of Lethbridge, both content in their shared bubble, letting the warm wind of late summer caress their skins and tangle their hair. The breeze moves through the open windows and out again, spreading a little of their unspoken hopes and dreams over the Alberta fields.

When Roger takes a sharp right onto a gravel road and she sees the sign, Brianna huffs a surprised laugh.

„Roger MacKenzie! Are you seriously taking me to a drive-in movie on our first date?“ she asks incredulously, but still smiling, a giddy feeling prickling in her stomach.

He puts the car in park and turns to look at her, his green eyes kind and searching. „Aye. I am,“ he finally says.

„You do know that people usually don’t come here to watch a movie?“ Brianna teases and the exhilaration in her stomach intensifies at the nearly imperceptible glint flashing up in Roger’s eyes for a split second before he answers.

„I willna say it hasna crossed my mind, but I promise my intentions are pure – I just wanted us to have a little more privacy than a regular cinema offers,“ he explains and after a moment of hesitation adds, suddenly unsure: „But we can leave if ye dinna feel comfortable with this.“ 

She smiles at him and snuggles deeper into her seat, stretching out her hand. „Hand me the pancakes, will you?“

The movie is terrible, a low budget horror flick that hits every clichée at least twice and after making fun of it for a few minutes, Brianna’s attention wanders to the tall man at her side, licking bacon grease from his fingers. She grins, stealing the last strip of bacon from the container balanced on Roger’s knees. Breakfast at the drive-in cinema – it’s such an unusual first date that she can’t help but wonder what adventures he might take her on in the future.

He catches her gaze and smiles at her and she suddenly feels self-conscious, her cheeks heating up under his questioning look.

„So how does a Scot become a cowboy?“ she quickly asks to steer her thoughts back onto safer terrain, to divert from the fact that the truck suddenly feels much smaller and she becomes acutely aware of his presence right next to her.

She shifts to lean against the car door, quickly slipping off her sandals and placing her bare feet on the console between them, just an inch away from his thigh. Facing him, she watches while he’s pondering his answer, her nervousness not alleviated at all.

When he starts to tell his story, she loses herself in it in a heartbeat. It takes away all her jitters and her hyper awareness and leaves a fierce sense of compassion and tenderness for the boy he used to be and for the man he is now. She can imagine him, a young lad on a Scottish farm, helping out with the horses after school and being taught how to ride by his father. She can see the residue of the angry, rebellious teenager in his stormy eyes when he tells her about the time right after his parents’ death that he spent with a distant relative in Edinburgh. She can feel on his skin the brittle peace he’s found in Canada, when she touches his arm in sympathy and reassurance.

„I liked being back with horses, ye ken? It just made sense at that point, I needed an outlet and I found it in rodeo. It grounds me, in a way.“  
She squeezes his arm lightly. „Thank you for telling me your story,“ she says, choosing not to comment, but to concentrate instead on proving worthy of his trust. 

She keeps her hand on his arm the entire way home and maybe she imagines it, but it feels like the drive lasts half an eternity with Roger driving purposely slow.

They turn up the radio and leave all the heaviness behind, the dark streets a familiar background to their newness. She discovers that he can sing and he protests her notion that she can not. When she refuses to demonstrate, he makes her imitate the instruments and they sit laughing over a shared „drum“ solo in front of her dorm for long minutes, neither willing to break the moment and leave the other.

„This was great,“ Brianna finally says, after they’ve quieted down enough to catch their breath. „Thank you.“

He nods, looking at her intently, his expression one she cannot read fully, but one that leaves her wanting more. More of him, more of his stories, his ideas, his life, his body.

Roger gets out of the car and walks around the front, opening her door for her and extending his hand to help her down.

„Goodnight, Brianna“, he smiles and let’s go of her hand. Before she can doubt her own instincts, she gets up on her toes and presses a quick kiss to his cheek.

„Goodnight, Roger,“ she says low into his ear and quickly walks towards the dorm’s entry. When she looks back, he’s still standing next to the open passenger door, his eyes following her every step.

_Will you show me your horses next time?_

_Canna wait. Bring my hat._


	3. Chapter 3

Brianna has never been one of those girls giggling about unattainable crushes over mani-pedis with their girlfriends. She always thought that the “butterflies in your stomach“ metaphor was incredibly cheesy and not once in her life did she sit over her phone agonizing whether a text meant this or that or still this.

She has, however, spent a whole lot of time holding her phone lately. Roger’s texts have made her day more than once and they pop up in her head again, now that she’s driving towards the Wakefield farm, familiar words she’s read many times by this point. The feeling in her stomach has nothing to do with familiarity though, and she grits her teeth, refusing to accept that the cheesy metaphor might just be happening to her.

_Remember that ridiculous scream the teacher let out when she saw the aliens in the movie? I’m pretty sure that’s the sound I made when my horse threw me off today._

She grins at the thought of him bellowing while ungracefully falling off a horse, as she takes the exit ramp from the highway. It has been two weeks since their last date, his weekend occupied with rodeo, her weeknights busy with studying. The texts their only lifeline, a reminder of the ties between them, a connection so unexpected and easy, yet fragile still.

_The sunset had all the colors of your hair tonight._

She recalls the way her lips quirked up into an involuntary smile when she read that text, her stomach doing a dance very similar to the one she’s currently experiencing.   
She also remembers her smile broadening into a silent laugh at his follow-up message.

_God, woman, you’ve reduced me to a sappy fool._

Her brain stops recounting his texts the moment she pulls into the wide driveway of the Wakefield farm. What she gets instead is white noise and an urgent nervousness that reminds her a little of the anxiety she feels before major exams.

Brianna turns off the engine but stays behind the wheel for a minute, trying to gather her wits. 

Finally, on a deep breath, she exits the car, shutting the door behind her just as a woman comes around the corner of the main building. 

“Oh, hello darling, you must be Brianna!“ she exclaims and, with a warm smile, hurries towards her to shake her hand. “I’m Moira Wakefield, Roger’s aunt. He’s out in the low pasture, let me show you.“ Mrs Wakefield ushers her onto a narrow path leading around a barn and disappearing behind it.

It soon proves impossible to stay nervous around Roger’s aunt. Mrs Wakefield is one of the friendliest people Brianna has ever met. She talks without pause; about the farm, the grounds and their horses, her husband, who originally wanted to become a reverend but ended up a farmer. About Roger, who apparently has told his aunt everything about Brianna and, who, according to her, is completely smitten.

By the time they reach the tall wooden fence at the edge of the field, Brianna feels like she might be comfortable telling Mrs Wakefield the story of her life - even though she’s barely uttered five words since getting out of her car.

There are two saddles draped over the pen and Roger is fiddling with one of them, looking up when his aunt’s voice carries on the light breeze. He’s wearing another checkered flannel, dark green this time, sleeves rolled up to the elbow. When he sees her, his face lights up visibly, despite his hat’s broad brim shading his features.

Brianna has to focus on her breathing for a hot second when he looks at her with that unguarded smile, wiping a stray strand of hair from his eye. She knows that Mrs Wakefield is still talking but the words don’t seem to reach Brianna’s brain anymore, her entire consciousness taken up by Roger as she walks toward him.

“Hi,“ she breathes when they finally reach him, her hand nervously straightening his hat on her own head. “Hi,“ he echoes, still smiling, reaching out and covering her hand, stilling it. “It looks perfect on ye.“

“Well, I’ll leave you two to it,“ Mrs Wakefield’s voice bursts through their private bubble. “I hope you’ll stay for dinner, Brianna?“

“I’d love to, thank you, Mrs Wakefield!“ It surprises Brianna how easily she agrees to it, how comfortable she feels around these people. She briefly wonders whether it might be a family thing.  
“Oh, dear, Mrs Wakefield was my husband’s mother. Please call me Moira!“ And with a wink and a wave, Moira turns back towards the house.

“I see ye’ve met my aunt,“ Roger grins at Brianna and she can’t help but grin back at him.

“Oh yeah, she’s great. And I’m pretty sure she’s already told me all of your quirks on the way here.“

Roger sighs dramatically, putting the back of his hand to his forehead. “That woman is a pathological liar.“ he complains, but there’s a telling tug on his lips as he looks down at his feet. 

He turns to the saddles, handing Brianna one of them and hauling the other one over his own shoulder. At his piercing whistle two horses come trotting. “Weel,“ he mutters under his breath, “let’s see whether I can make ye forget what she’s told ye.“

A couple of hours later they’re brushing the horses dry in companionable silence. Brianna’s limbs are comfortably heavy with exhaustion, her thighs and backside hurting from the unfamiliar exertion of a long ride.

"Ye’re a natural talent,“ Roger praises, handing her a curry comb. Brianna blushes, hiding behind her mare’s mane. "I had a good teacher.“ His satisfied answering look doesn’t escape her.

When the horses are tended to and safely back in their stalls, Roger fits himself behind where she’s standing at the gutter, looking into the box, and he tentatively lays his hands on her shoulders. 

"Bree.“ His voice in her ear is low, deep, sending a shiver down her spine. The feel of him against her body grounding, the heat radiating off him deliciously thrilling. "I’m glad ye came,“ he simply adds and she gives in to the overwhelming need to look at him. Turning to lean against the gutter, she boldly catches his hands as they fall from her shoulders and draws him close. "I’m glad too,“ she answers, losing herself in the depths of his emerald ocean eyes. 

It feels like a force of nature pulling them together. The tug of the tide, driving not only the storm in his eyes but the tempest in her gut, inevitably drawing her towards him.

She feels his warm breath ghosting over her lips and instinctively moistens them with a quick swipe of her tongue, her eyes still fixed on his, watching his stare lose focus and flick to her mouth.

The door of the barn slides open with a loud squeak, making both of them jump. "There you are!“ calls a male voice. "Moira says to come in. Dinner is ready.“ The man is already poised to head back the way he came, evidently aware that he just interrupted a moment between them.

"Thank you, Uncle Reggie,“ Roger yells after him and then, with a much lower voice mutters something that Brianna doesn’t understand, but seems to be Gaelic. In any case, it doesn’t even sound half as pleasant.


	4. Chapter 4

Dinner is pot roast and potatoes with green beans. It is unbelievably delicious and fills Brianna’s stomach with the comfortable warmth of a home-cooked meal. _It’s been too long since I’ve visited my parents_ , she thinks, happily accepting seconds from Moira.

Mr Wakefield – or Reggie, as he implores her to call him – turns out to live up to Moira’s description seemingly effortlessly. When Brianna asks how he ended up on a farm in Alberta, he’s only too happy to oblige her and tell his life story; how he had already been accepted to the University of Edinburgh’s divinity program in the spring of 1994 at the tender age of 18. How he had decided to spend the summer travelling. How he had heard of the _Toronto Blessing_ , visited it and found it to be rather excessive. How he had travelled on through Canada – on foot, by train and bus or hitching a ride, occasionally working on a farm for a few days to earn some money. How he had fallen in love with the country, with the people, with farming. And how he’d then met Moira.

"Ye see, lass," he finishes, "I didna really have a choice anymore after meeting her. God had chosen for me, and he wanted me to take a different path than I’d intended." Moira smiles at him and Brianna can’t help but mirror their contentedness when she feels Roger’s hand softly squeezing her thigh under the table.

"We always joke about how Canadian Uncle Reggie has become," Roger quips in. "The only two things left from his old life are the Scottish accent and an undying love for preaching sermons."

"Aye," Reggie chuckles, "that and an impertinent brat of a nephew." The two men laugh at that remark and Brianna joins in, her own hand squeezing Roger’s knee in turn now, driven by her joy about witnessing his loving family.

"So, Brianna," Moira says, after they’ve quieted down again and she’s served coffee and a wonderful blackberry pie, "Roger tells us you have Scottish roots, too?"

Brianna turns her head to look at him while she struggles to swallow a bite of pie. The tips of his ears have turned a lovely shade of pink, just a little lighter than the tiny splatter of blackberry juice on his lip. He doesn’t meet her eyes, and she doesn’t search his, trying to hide the sudden urge to lick the sweetness off his lips.

"Uh, yeah," she turns back to Moira and Reggie instead. "My Da grew up in the Highlands, near a village called Broch Mordha?" She waits to see whether Reggie might be familiar with the place but he shakes his head. "Mama is English, but they met at the University of Calgary – my mother was studying to become a doctor there and Da came as an exchange student in Veterinary Sciences, because he was interested in the cattle farming in Alberta... Anyhow, they never wanted to return to Britain after starting a family."

"But you’ve been to Scotland?" Moira asks quickly, side-eyeing her husband whose eyes lit up at the mention of cattle farming in Alberta.

"Oh, yes, quite a few times. My aunt and her husband still live in the Highlands with their children and we’ve often visited them during summer."

"Scotland is beautiful during summer...", Reggie muses, sufficiently distracted from thoughts about cattle for the time being. "It’s the only time it rains a little warmer."

After dinner, Moira gently ushers Brianna towards the living room, leaving the men to clean up the kitchen. She catches an apologetic look from Roger when his strong fingers softly graze the back of her hand in passing, but she finds that she doesn’t mind – she feels comfortable with his family, so much so that she has stopped worrying and wondering about her relationship to Roger. 

In the course of the afternoon and evening, she has somehow unconsciously accepted her feelings for him and in that moment, at his touch, she realizes and flashes him a big smile.

Yes, she wants him – every part of him, and for the first time that knowledge doesn’t scare her or make her nervous, but spreads warmth and comfort through her belly, settling next to pot roast and blackberry pie.

"This was Roger’s first try at rodeo," Moira explains, pointing to the next page in the photo album on Brianna’s lap. "He was about 14, I think..." Brianna studies the picture carefully, trying to find traces of the Roger she has gotten to know these last few weeks, and she does – his hair is still as wild, his stance is still as defiant.

"He looks so... solemn," she finally says and it comes out as more of a question than a statement. Moira sighs. "Yes, he wasn’t really what you would call a happy kid back then... I assume he told you how he came to live with us?" Brianna nods at Moira’s question, her thumb absentmindedly tracing Roger’s features in the picture.

"He was very angry after his parents had died... He came here when he was 13 and the first year was really hard for him – he got into a lot of fights at school and barely talked to us."

Brianna must have made a noise at that because Moira lays her hand on her shoulder then, turning the album page to point out an even younger Roger, standing on the second bar of a fence, facing away from the camera towards the horses on the paddock in the background.

"He related to the horses the most. He had been riding in Scotland and that’s why we decided to let him try rodeo after a while and it really helped. Provided an outlet for his feelings, I think."

They are both silent for a while, focusing on the photo album, on Roger growing taller, older, his look opening up, his expression softening.

"What are ye up to?" Roger interrupts the silence, dropping down to the floor in front of the couch, draping his arm over Brianna’s legs. "Checking out the never ending slide show of your rodeo injuries," she answers dryly and tilts the album to show him a picture of his leg in a cast. He huffs an answering laugh and tightens his grip on her legs. "Weel, that’s part of what ye signed up to when ye agreed to a date with a rodeo rider."

She’s just about to make a teasing remark when the sound of her cellphone makes her jump. She knows immediately it’s her parents from the ringtone, and she knows just as immediately that something must be wrong. They never call. They text, they show up, they send postcards. But they never call.

"I’m so sorry I have to leave like this," Brianna tells Roger when he accompanies her to her car a quarter of an hour later. "Ye don’t have to be," he assures her. "Family is important. I get it. Ye need to be with yer mother now." 

She shudders at the thought of her strong mother, the doctor, the surgeon, lying unconscious in a hospital bed and he grasps her by the shoulders and hugs her tight. 

"I’m here if ye need me, okay?" he murmurs into her hair, pressing a soft kiss on the top of her head. "Whatever ye need. I’m here."


	5. Chapter 5

She’s not sure how she managed to drive her car back to Lethbridge without causing an accident, her mind racing with thoughts of her Mam and Da the whole twenty minute drive.

 

Fergus is already waiting for her in front of the dorm and she’s so relieved, she can’t stop the tears. She throws herself into her brother’s arms, clutching him tight as he holds onto her with the same intensity.

 

"Thanks for coming to get me," Brianna finally murmurs into the thick wool of his burgundy jumper and rubs at her eyes, turning to hurry up the stairs towards her dorm room.

 

Fergus catches her up on what has happened while she quickly packs a small bag, but he doesn’t know much more than her, his information stemming from a hurried call with their father too.

 

"Apparently Mam was in surgery and suddenly had difficulty to control her right hand, then a light tremor, so she stepped out, but then she fainted in the corridor. Thank God she was at FMC already – they called Da immediately and ran a few tests to confirm their suspicions. Seems like she suffered a light stroke."

 

Brianna has to sit down at Fergus’ explanations, her knees trembling, her bag an abandoned heap on the floor. "Fuck," she swears, burying her face in her hands, the image that had haunted her since she left the Wakefield farm reappearing behind her closed eyelids - her mother, lying unconscious.

 

She feels the bed dip with Fergus’ weight and then the comforting pressure of his arm around her shoulders. "That’s a dollar in the swear jar," he jokes weakly, shaky voice betraying his own agitation. An involuntary laugh escapes her and he squeezes her shoulder.

 

"Bree," he continues, "I think it really was a minor stroke. Da said the doctors were optimistic. But you know how he gets about Mam. He needs us now, we ought to hurry."

 

He is right, of course he is. Their father is a mountain of a man, the epitome of a highlander the way you imagine them from Braveheart and romance novels. Growing up, Brianna has always felt perfectly safe with him near. But now, as an adult, she knows that big parts of her father’s strength are drawn from her mother.

 

That train of thought follows Brianna into Fergus’ car, and when she shares it with her brother they spend most of the two hour ride sharing memories of their parents’ relationship; the ridiculous doe eyes they would make at each other every christmas morning, the way they would hold hands at Fergus’ softball games, their father making porridge for their mother before every important operation, the tears in his eyes when she walked the stage receiving honours for her work on a new surgical method.

 

"Remember when they told us I was adopted?" Fergus asks and Brianna reaches over to squeeze his hand. Of course she remembers. "You were only four or five, I think," Fergus continues, eyes fixed on the road. From his tone, she knows it’s a good memory though. "You were so angry at them, more angry than me. I think, on some level I had suspected something already."

 

"Right! Da told me I was raising hell, not letting them get a single word out, yelling how you were my brother and I would not accept you being adopted and how could they even let that happen!" Brianna chuckles, her own memory a pale shadow made almost tangible by her father’s recounting of the story.

 

"Yeah, as if they could have somehow chosen to give birth to me instead of adopting me," Fergus laughs along, now turning his attention from the highway to give her a quick look filled with love. "You were my fiercest defender."

 

"As you were mine," she smiles back at him. "But you didn’t need my defending that day."

 

"No... I didn’t."

 

She knows exactly what he’s thinking of at that moment because the scene plays in her own head as well, that part of the memory much clearer than the image of five year old, agitated Bree, worn and familiar from frequent recollection, a go-to source of comfort and sense of family.

_"Bree... Brianna!" Her father’s voice rises a little in an effort to make himself be heard over Brianna’s incessant railing. "Come here," her mother softly calls and Bree finally falls silent, settling on her Mam’s knees, still tightly clasping Fergus’ hand with her own little chubby fingers._

_"We’re so proud of the two of ye," her father speaks again, regarding both his children intently. "And ye’re absolutely right, Brianna, of course Fergus is yer brother and we love him just as much as we love you."_

_"We really do," their mother takes over, pressing a kiss to Brianna’s heated cheek, running a hand through Fergus’ dark locks. "We’ve been so very blessed with you two, and we couldn’t wish for better children. We wouldn’t trade you for the world."_

_"I promise ye, Fergus, we’ll always treat ye as our own. We wanted to tell ye about the adoption because we want ye to know the truth..." their father trails off, leaving their Mam to finish his sentence. "But it’s also the truth that we want you and we love you. You are our son, as much as Bree is our daughter. You two are our whole life."_

 

It takes her by surprise when Fergus turns off the highway into Calgary’s suburbs. They have been riding in silence for a while now, interrupted only by the low sound of the radio, each of them lost in their thoughts.

 

"We should go to the hospital first, right?" Brianna says, anxiety rising again, as they get closer to their parents’ house. "Bree, it’s the middle of the night. We should get home and check on Da. Mam needs the rest, we can visit her tomorrow." Fergus steers into the neighborhood of their childhood, a voice of reason calming her down at least a little.

 

"Yeah, you’re right," she murmurs, drawing up her shoulders in a vain attempt to protect herself from the onslaught of feelings as well as the chilly night air, when Fergus’ car comes to a stop in front of their childhood home.

 

There’s a single light on in the living room, visible through the window, and Brianna releases a shaky breath, relieved the hospital staff have managed to send their father home to rest a little.

 

The front door opens only seconds after the sound of the closing car doors has announced their presence, and the big figure of Jamie Fraser stands in the faint light from the living room lamp, a negative against the background of the familiar home.

 

Brianna immediately hurries up the steps to meet him, leaving Fergus to deal with their bags. She runs right into her father’s outstretched arms and hugs him tight, his relieved sigh breaking her heart.

 

"Da! I’m so sorry..." she rambles, taking a step back to look at him. "How are you? How’s Mama?"

 

"Better, now that ye’re here, _mo nighean."_ He smiles at her and she notices the deep shadows under his eyes, the dishevelled state of his hair. The smile is genuine though and it takes a bit of the weight off her heart, sparks her mind with hope.

 

"And Mam?" Fergus repeats Brianna’s question, appearing behind her and side-stepping his sister to quickly hug Jamie himself.

 

"The hospital says she’s stable. The stroke wasna too destructive, apparently, a small blood clot in her brain. They caught it early enough thankfully, and they’re planning on fixing the issue with a new procedure tomorrow. They’re confident that she’ll make a full recovery in a few months’ time. But come in..." He takes a step back and let’s them enter the hallway. "I’ve prepared yer beds and made some tea. I’ll catch ye up once ye’ve changed into something more comfortable."

_How’s yer Mam? I’m thinking of ye and yer family. Hope it all turns out okay._

_She’s alright considering the circumstances. Finding out more tomorrow. Thanks for checking in!_

_Anytime. And remember, whatever ye need. I’m here._

_Thank you, Roger. <3._


	6. Chapter 6

Brianna sighs at the sight of the full sink, steadying herself for a moment before tackling the necessary task. Life at the Fraser household has been pretty chaotic during the last few days, and between visits to the hospital, filling out health insurance forms, organizing physical therapy and making sure everyone didn’t forget to sleep and eat during all of that, the dishes have been badly neglected.

 

The sound of her phone vibrating against the wooden tabletop rouses Brianna from her thoughts and she smiles at Roger’s short message.

_I miss ye._

 

She quickly types out an answer, promising to return to Lethbridge soon. It’s not an empty promise anymore – two more days until her mother will be allowed to come home. Two more days of organizing everything for her return, of keeping the order for her father, and then she’ll be heading back to university. And to Roger.

 

Brianna ties the string of her mother’s apron blindly behind her back, starting to whistle when she turns on the water. She misses him too, and now that the immediate worry for her mother has considerably lifted, she realizes how much promise their blooming relationship holds; how many firsts they can still look forward to, how many goosebumps he might cause, how many smiles he might prompt.

 

After finishing the dishes, Brianna starts on dinner and soon the comforting smell of macaroni and cheese wafts through the house and the growling of her stomach nearly drowns out the doorbell.

 

Joe Abernathy knows better than to wait for the door to be answered and enters the kitchen a moment later, drawing Brianna into a tight hug.

 

„Hi, Uncle Joe,“ she sighs, breathing in his familiar scent of tweed and cigar smoke.

 

„How are you?“ he asks, releasing her to start setting the table. They slip into easy conversation; small talk about their days and his sons, about dinner and the weather. It’s an unspoken agreement that they wait for Fergus and Jamie before discussing her mother.

 

Her brother and father stumble into the kitchen only minutes after Joe, their faces glowing bright from the chill of the fresh autumn air and the physical action of chopping wood and raking leaves. For a short moment, the room erupts into cheery greetings and Brianna feels a sharp sting at the thought that usually, her mother would be the calm center of a scene like this.

 

They settle around the table for dinner, and the first few bites are eaten in silence, before her father asks the question on all of their minds.

 

„How is she?“

 

Joe carefully sets down his fork and ponders the question for a moment before starting to speak. „We’re confident that she’ll make a full recovery. As you all know, we managed to intervene soon enough because the stroke happened in the hospital and the new procedure we applied – the neuro thrombectomy – went over well. According to studies, over 60 percent of stroke patients recover within three months after a neuro thrombectomy and we were lucky Claire qualified for it. I’m very optimistic. She’s responsive and the tests I ran today came back with promising results.“

 

The relief at the table is palpable in the simultaneous release of their held breath. Brianna already knew most of this, but hearing it now, at their kitchen table, from Joe Abernathy of all people finally makes it believable. She watches some of the tension leave her father’s shoulders and consciously relaxes her own, shooting Joe a grateful look.

„You already set up the physical therapy?“

 

„Aye,“ Jamie replies and goes on to explain what they’ve planned for the next few weeks, what Fergus and Brianna have helped him set up. „We’ve moved our room to the ground floor, for Claire to have easier access and I’ve reduced my hours for the foreseeable future. I want to be here for her while she recovers.“

 

She knew that too, but hearing Jamie tell it to Joe in his calm, matter of fact manner, Brianna has to swallow the emotions threatening to spill over. She admires her father for his dedication to his wife, she admires her parents for their loving, stable, reliable relationship. And for a split second, she can’t help but wonder if she’ll ever have anything like it in her life, if she’ll get to experience that kind of love, if maybe Roger...

 

Fergus’ question jolts her out of her reverie. „What do you think, Bree?“ he asks, the glint in his eyes clearly telling her that he knows full well she hasn’t been listening.

 

„I’m sorry, what?“ She feels her cheeks heat up with the blush of being caught in ridiculous daydreams.

 

„I said I need to get back to college tomorrow, an important meeting of the paper... But since I drove you here, you either have to come with me or maybe take the bus instead?“ Fergus scratched his ear, a slightly apologetic look on his face.

 

„Ah, no, I want to stay here until Mama is back home and everything is settled. Don’t worry though,“ Brianna adds quickly. „I’m sure I’ll get back somehow.“

 

„I can drive ye, _nighean,“_ Jamie offers instantly and is rewarded with a stern glance.

 

„No, you can’t, Da. Mama will need you here. I’ll see if someone can come pick me up or I’ll take the bus. End of discussion.“

 

Joe laughs out loud at Brianna’s scolding. „Just as bossy as her mother,“ he comments, making Jamie smile at his daughter fondly and Brianna blush for the second time in about as many minutes.

 

„Someone needs to keep all you men in check,“ Brianna mutters defiantly, sending the men in question into a chorus of mock outrage, though they fail to keep straight faces during their protests..

 

Her phone pings with another message from Roger when they’re all sitting in the living room and Fergus is setting up the monopoly board.

 

„What do you wanna be, Bree?“ Fergus asks, even though he knows full well that she always plays with the top hat – which he has already snagged for himself.

_When will ye be home? When can I see ye?_

 

„Give me that, Fergus!“ Brianna says distractedly, reaching out in a blind attempt to grab the token from her brother, but her heart isn’t in it. It’s focused on typing out an answer, as are her eyes and other hand.

_I don’t really know... My brother has to drive back early and I need to figure out how to get home, but I’m hoping friday night?_

 

His response comes almost immediately.

_I’ll pick ye up. Text me time and address. Canna wait._

 

„What’s with the smiley face, sis?“ Fergus teases and Brianna scrunches up her nose in an effort to fight yet another on-coming blush. She snags the little top hat from under Fergus’ nose and carefully sets it down in front of her, then shrugs. „Well, I have a ride for friday.“

 

Fergus’ raised eyebrow and his light tug on her right ear promise more questions, but he leaves it at that for the moment and finishes sorting the monopoly money.

 

„Okay, Da, age before beauty,“ he announces and hands Jamie the dice, effectively starting a game that Brianna is bound to lose miserably, which has little to do with her monopoly skills.


	7. Chapter 7

Time passes in mysterious ways – something Brianna has always found hard to deal with. She likes things to follow a pattern, a rule. Time, being sorted into hours and minutes and seconds, gives the perfect illusion of order - only to shatter that illusion  whenever it counts.

After Fergus leaves early on Thursday morning and her father is off to work, Brianna wanders back into the empty house, lingering in the hall. They’ve moved all the furniture from their parents’ bedroom into her old room downstairs. They’ve figured out a schedule for physical therapy and hospital check-ups that works with Da’s hours at the animal clinic. Fergus and Jamie have chopped enough wood to last through the entire winter and have taken care of everything in the garden, while Brianna has spent hours preparing and freezing meals for her parents to eat during the first weeks of her mother being back home. There isn’t really much more to do except wait for Mama to come home.

Brianna sighs and decides to do a load of her own laundry – something to keep her occupied while she’s waiting for her father to return and take her for a visit to the hospital.

Occupation is what she continues to strive for that whole day and all of Friday morning, while time stretches like a lazy cat – the seconds ticking away audibly in Brianna’s mind. 

Laundry, book, or talk show – nothing manages to truly distract her thoughts from flitting back and forth between her worry for her parents and her eagerness for Roger to arrive. She lies in her bed that night, wide awake, staring at the unfamiliar pattern the streetlight casts on the wall of her parents’ old room, and counts the hours – fourteen until Mama gets released from the hospital, seventeen until she gets to see Roger. 

Seventeen hours until Roger meets her parents, seventeen hours and a little until she leaves her Da alone with the care of Mama, seventeen hours and a little until she gets to be alone with Roger for two full hours on the drive back to Lethbridge.

She marvels at his willingness to drive over four hours for her, at his readiness to meet her parents, at his apparent certainty about pursuing this relationship. Smiling at the ceiling, she lets herself wonder – will he hug her, getting out of the car? Kiss her even? Will their first kiss be one of greeting, of reunion? Will he drop her off at her dorm or take her out to dinner or even come in with her?

It takes a lot of tossing and turning and countless visions of possible reunion scenarios for Brianna to fall asleep that night, but she finally does, missing the low ping of her phone by just a few minutes.

_ I canna fall asleep and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m nervous to meet yer parents or to finally see ye again. _

The tide turns almost the second her mother enters the house the next day and Brianna suddenly feels like a floodgate has been opened. Where time has been trickling by slowly, in tiny little drops, it is now a raging river, rushing by in a flurry, contrasted only by Claire’s slow pace.

Even though it takes her a lot of strength and effort, Claire insists on being shown all their preparations, slowly asking questions here and there, taking meticulous care to form comprehensible short sentences. Just like her, Brianna thinks, irritated and relieved at the same time to find her mother straining herself to be as strategic and considerate as usual. 

When Brianna checks the living room clock, after Claire has lain down to rest a little, it is almost a quarter to three and she quickly hurries up the stairs to pack up the rest of her things and brush her hair and teeth, cursing under her breath about the unreliability of time.

She has just finished zipping up her bag when the doorbell rings. „I’ll get it!“ she yells into the otherwise silent house, quickly slinging the bag over her shoulder and bounding down the stairs at a breakneck pace.

Roger’s one hand is buried deep in his jeans pocket, the other stills in his hair the moment she yanks the door open and for a second they just stare at each other nervously before he reaches out both his arms to draw her into a tight hug, breathing a low „Hi“ into her hair.

„Hey,“ she sighs, relaxing into his embrace and takes a deep breath, her senses flooding with his comforting smell. „Thank you for coming,“ she adds after a moment, leaning back a bit to smile at him. Roger smiles back brightly, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. „Oh, nae bother at all.“

Brianna reluctantly steps out of his hug, but grabs his hand with a confidence that surprises her. His answering squeeze makes a welcome warmth spread in her belly and eases some of the nervous jitters that have been plaguing her ever since she’s woken up this morning.

„I just have to say goodbye to my parents and then we can go,“ she tells him, leading him through the hallway toward her parents’ bedroom. „Mama has just lain down, it has been a long morning...“ Brianna trails off, quietly opening the bedroom door so as to not disturb her mother in case she’s sleeping. But Claire opens her eyes at the faint sound, smiling sweetly at Brianna and Roger, waving for them to come in. 

„ _ Sassenach _ .“ Her father’s voice comes from the adjoining bathroom before either of them can say anything and they all turn to the open door, where a second later, Jamie Fraser appears in nothing but a small, green towel. „Did ye want... Oh,“ he continues talking to his wife only to interrupt himself quickly upon seeing his daughter and her visitor. 

Brianna fights hard to bite down her chuckle when both Roger and her Da turn a pretty shade of pink around their noses. Her mother, however, isn’t half as tactful and laughs out loud, closing her eyes and letting her head sink back into the pillows. „God, it’s good to be home,“ she wheezes in between giggles and while the words are slow and slightly distorted, her laughter is infectious in its wonderful familiarity. Brianna knows her father has noticed it too, because his blush recedes, and his shoulders relax.

„I’m verra sorry for the unconventional greeting,“ he says to Roger, „but the house has been a little chaotic these days. Jamie Fraser,“ he adds and extends his right hand, his left carefully keeping the towel in place.

„Roger MacKenzie,“ Roger grins, shaking Jamie’s hand. „Pleasure to meet ye.“

„Oh, ye havena told us that yer friend is Scots, Bree!“ He smiles and Brianna shrugs her shoulders, feeling a blush of her own coming on. She hasn’t really told her parents anything about Roger, wanting to keep him to herself for a little longer, to wait and see what would become of them.

„My wife, Claire Fraser,“ her father gestures towards the bed and Roger turns to carefully shake her mother’s hand as well, politely waving aside her apologies to her poor state as a host.

They leave the house twenty minutes later, equipped with two containers of the frozen lasagna Brianna has made for her parents but could not dissuade her father from packing for her. Jamie is standing on the porch – now fully dressed, waving them off, and Brianna waves back, thoughts distracted by a nagging worry. Will their plans work out the way they have intended? Will her mother recover as fast as Joe has promised?

She’s taken by surprise when the truck jolts to a stop just after it has rounded the corner and she looks at Roger with wide eyes. „Wha...“ But he cuts her off before she can finish her question with warm lips pressed against her own, one hand at the nape of her neck, gathering her to him. She gasps against him, her mind taking a split second to catch up to reality before she kisses him back, fervently, pouring all the worry and anticipation of these last few days into the kiss.

They are both breathing heavily when they part, Brianna dazedly touching a finger to her lips.

„That was... unexpected,“ she finally says and he chuckles.

„I felt like it was time, now that I’ve already seen yer Da naked,“ he answers and starts the engine again.

  
  



	8. Chapter 8

Dusk is just starting to set when Roger pulls into the parking lot of Brianna’s dorm, cutting the car’s engine and turning to look at her. He scratches his neck nervously and she can’t help but smile, anticipating his question.

„Please, come in with me,“ she says sincerely, looking him straight in the eye, and the thrill that shoots through her at his answering blush goes straight to her core, igniting a steady simmer of want.

Instead of an answer, he leans over the console and kisses her breathless, making the color in her own cheeks rise and her lips tingle. Then, he pulls away suddenly and gets out of the truck, rushing around the hood to open her door for her. The radiant smile he gives her stills Brianna for another moment because she suddenly doubts her legs will carry her.  _ Jeez, you’ve turned into a glob of goo _ , she chastises herself and hops from the seat, reaching out her hand to grab her bag from him. Roger turns his shoulder away slightly, hoisting it up a little higher and catches her hand in his own, answering her pointed stare with a small shrug and a grin.

They run into Gayle in the hallway. She’s flushed and flustered, and immediately starts babbling at a dizzying speed. By the time she releases Brianna from her tight hug, she has almost talked both of them into her evening plans.

„Come  _ on,  _ Bree, it’ll be so much fun! You could really use the distraction, what with your family and all, and we need someone like your cowboy boyfriend to show us how it’s done!  _ Please _ ! We haven’t been out together in forever.“

Brianna and Roger exchange a look and he shrugs his shoulder, the corner of his mouth curled up in amusement. The gesture says he’ll go along with whatever she decides, and she feels a surge of affection for him that almost makes her say  _ no _ to Gayle. Almost.

„Alright,“ she turns to her best friend, grinning. „Three conditions, though. One: I get to raid your closet. Two: You’re buying first round. Three: Under no circumstances will I pretend to be your lesbian lover again tonight.“ She giggles as Roger’s eyebrows almost shoot through the roof at her last remark, and reaches up to smooth over the right one with her thumb, using her other hand to drop her keys in his palm and fold his fingers around them. „I’ll be right back,“ she says, then turns on her heels and stalks off towards Gayle’s room.

„Oh. I see. Something clearly happened there.“

It takes Roger a second to tear his gaze from Brianna’s backside and meet Gayle’s eyes instead which are sparkling with mirth. „I... uh... mmph.“ He settles for the very Scottish sound rather than an actual answer, feeling the tips of his ears grow hot at her look, and he is very relieved when Brianna calls for Gayle from down the hallway.

„Coming,“ Gayle yells back, and – already walking backwards – points a long, manicured finger at him, mouthing a „Later!“ that makes Roger involuntarily shudder, then, after a moment, smile to himself. Something has clearly happened indeed.

It’s incredibly loud, even in front of the club. The music thumping through the wooden front door reaches them as a vibration rising from the dusty ground and their bodies recognize the country beat of the bass faster than their ears could. Brianna grabs Gayle by the elbow and leans in to say something to her that Roger doesn’t quite catch. Gayle nods in answer and starts out towards the entry, winking back at Brianna who hasn’t moved an inch and now turns to Roger.

Her look changes into something very tender as she regards him, and he feels his own expression morph to mirror hers. Unable to help himself, he reaches out to draw her closer and envelop her in his arms. She sighs into his embrace and he feels her warm breath ghosting over the collar of his flannel, pleasantly tickling his neck.

„Is this really alright with you?“ She asks after a moment, looking up at him. „I know this wasn’t the evening you had in mind when we got out of the car.“

He regards her thoughtfully, then dips his head to meet her lips with his own, carefully taking his time, tasting her like a fine wine. „Hmm, no, it wasn’t,“ he admits then, chuckling into the top of her head.

„We can go back,“ she says, and it sounds like she’s seriously considering it herself for a small moment. Roger takes a step back, but maintains their connection by intertwining their fingers. He looks her over, takes in the white, laced-up top and the tight jeans she’s wearing, ending in caramel cowboy boots. „Ye forgot to bring my hat,“ he remarks and she grins at him, letting him tug her towards the club’s entrance.

Roger groans when they reach the edge of the main dance floor and he realizes what Gayle has dragged him into. The mass of dancing bodies is moving in sync, all of them following a complicated pattern Roger can barely keep up with. 

„ _ Ah Diah,“  _ he mutters, shoving his hands deeper into his jeans pockets, staring at Brianna who seems to be frighteningly excited. 

„I always wanted to try line dancing!“ she squeals at Gayle who has magically appeared at her side, offering each of them a beer that Roger gratefully accepts.

„What’s with the scowl, cowboy?“ Gayle shouts at him over the noise. „Don’t tell me you don’t know how to line dance! You’re a rodeo rider for God’s sake!“

„I’m a  _ Scottish  _ rodeo rider,“ he frowns at her, „and I can barely dance jigs and reels. There’s a reason I prefer riding over walking,“ he ends his sentence drily, sending Gayle into a fit of giggles. 

„You’ll dance with me, Roger Mackenzie, whether you like it or not.“ Brianna pries the beer bottle from his hands, handing it off to Gayle with her own and before he can properly protest she’s tugging him after her onto the dancefloor. 

It’s the sight of her flushed cheeks, the stray strands of auburn hair falling into her face, the genuine joy showing on her face when both of them make another wrong step that makes him think dancing isn’t so bad after all, that he could do this all night – forever, if she wanted him to.

  
  



	9. Chapter 9

The crowded club is almost sweltering, but Roger barely notices, too focused on the heat rising inside of him, the flames licking his skin wherever he touches Brianna, the burning rise of need, setting his body afire and silencing his mind.

She’s beyond beautiful as she moves on the dancefloor, all the stress and worry of the last week washed away by music and beer, and maybe a little by him (at least that’s what he allows himself to hope for). Her auburn hair hangs loose on her shoulders, flowing freely with her movements, a single sweaty strand sticking to her cheek. Her smile is so bright, it lights up the air around her. Lost in his observation of her beauty, he almost forgets that he’s standing on a crowded dance floor, that he’s expected to move, until she winds her arms around his neck and he feels her body against his. 

„I can hear you thinking over the music,“ she says in his ear, and he almost groans at the delicious friction her dancing body creates against his own. He pulls her closer, right hand tightly gripping her belt with just the tips of his fingers resting above the curve of her bottom, left hand flattening against the dip of her back, tracing the curve of her spine through her flimsy blouse. 

„It’s no’ so much coherent thought as blind admiration,“ he tells her as she looks up at him, and he hold her gaze for a moment before dipping his head to kiss her. She presses closer, swiping her tongue over his bottom lip, and he opens his mouth, simultaneously sucking in air and granting her access.

They break apart at the loud yell of „Get a room!“ and Brianna grins at him, her cheeks tinged with a pretty flush.

„I think it’s time for us to get out of here,“ she says, running her finger over his chest teasingly. „Take me home, cowboy.“

It takes Roger an embarrassing amount of concentration not to crash the truck on the twenty minute drive to MacKenzie Farms. It starts to rain after he steers them off the highway and Brianna’s hand on his thigh is drawing idle patterns, irritating and exhilarating at once, the trail of her fingers itching as if she’s tattooed instead of just traced it. 

„The minister’s cat is an affectionate cat,“ he says, just to distract himself from her ministrations and she laughs, a low sound, deep in her throat that does nothing to soothe his aching need.

„The minister’s cat is an adventurous cat,“ she answers after a short silence, and when he takes his eyes off the road for a second to smile at her, she winks, and he knows he’s beyond lost.

When Roger cuts the engine in the farm’s carport a few minutes later and the radio dies, the sound of the heavy rain hitting the gravel greets them with a surprising volume. They share a quick look of resolve and Brianna squeezes his thigh. „On three?“ she asks, and he grins and starts counting.

It’s less than a hundred feet from the carport to the back door of the farm house, but the rain is coming down in buckets and they’re soaked before they’ve made it halfway to the house. Brianna spreads her arms wide and whirls around. „The minister’s cat is a drenched cat!“ she calls to him, picking up the game where they’d left it off. He catches up to her and pins her to the wall of the barn behind them, gently brushing the hair out of her face. The rain has darkened her locks to almost black and they feel reassuringly heavy when he buries his hands in them. The coldness of her wet lips contrasts the heat of her mouth under his, her fingers hooking into his belt loops and drawing him closer.

„The minister’s cat is an enlarged cat,“ she giggles against his lips, and he breaks their kiss to look at her sternly. 

„It’s not yer turn, young lady,“ he chides, and bends to pick her up, drawing a surprised, amused gasp from her. „I think it’s time we switch to a different game,“ he adds, carrying her towards the house. 

He sets her down inside the door, hastily pressing a finger to her slightly parted lips before any words can escape her. „Pssht, ye dinna want to wake Moira, do ye?“ She shakes her head in answer, taking his hand and letting him lead her up a creaking set of wooden stairs into his floor of the house.

„Oh. Wow.“

The words are a breathy exclamation on her lips when he closes the door behind them. The room stretches over the entire floor, with only a small section in the back separated by a large, colorful frosted glass panel, behind which she assumes is a bathroom. The ceiling is open to the pitch of the roof, thick wooden rafters crossing overhead. Roger has little furniture besides an enormous persian rug and a solid wood king size bed, standing right before the triangular window taking up the entire wall front between the roof slopes.

„Roger. This is beautiful.“

He shrugs his shoulders, a small smile on his face. „Uncle Reggie had the attic renovated when I moved in... I wanted to see the stars from my bed. It made me feel closer to my parents.“

What she sees on his face keeps her from commenting on his words. Instead, she rises up on her toes, and with a tender expression, kisses his cheek. Then, she turns away from him and in one fluid motion lifts her shirt over her head. 

„The shower is behind the glass, I suppose?“ she asks, opening her bra and letting it fall to the floor. On his wide-eyed nod, she stalks toward it, shedding more clothes on the way. Over the spray of the shower, she calls a moment later. „Well, are you coming?“

He doesn’t need to be asked twice.

  
  



	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well - here we go, somehow i managed to finish this.   
> special thanks for that achievement go to @futurelounging, @whiskynottea and @abbydebeaupre for their wonderful support and for lending their beta eyes. you've made this story what it is. i love you <3.
> 
> thank you to everyone who is still reading, too - it has been a lovely ride!

By early May, Brianna has been to so many rodeos, she’s given up counting. She remembers only the first one though, in vivid detail – the feel of her boots hitting the dusty dirt lot, settling her firmly into this world of horses and cowboys, the unexpected, bone-deep excitement, Roger’s triumphant smile through the lens of her camera. The images haunt her all the way from her dorm to the hospital, interrupted only by the occasional returning thought:  _ I’m so sick of getting calls like this _ .

„We’re here,“ Gayle says, breaking the silence, when Brianna doesn’t immediately get out of the parked car, immobilized by a sudden terror squeezing her insides in an icy, strong grip. 

Brianna meets her friend’s eyes and nods absently, Gayle’s presence a small comfort, loosening terror’s death-grip just enough for her to keep breathing. Keep breathing, get out of the car and into the hospital.

Gayle insisted on driving her the second Brianna hung up the phone. Brianna made a weak attempt at protesting, but really she is beyond grateful to have her best friend at her side – she isn’t sure she could have driven herself here safely. She’s fiddling with her bracelet, never turning her gaze from where Gayle is speaking with the receptionist, her thoughts running a hundred miles an hour.

She should have been there. She should have at least been with him when it happened, she thinks, while a small, irrational part of her keeps insisting he might not have fallen had she been there to watch, had she supported him like he deserved, had she not chosen to stay at home over a stupid, idiotic little fight. 

She jumps from the chair when Gayle comes towards her, still grasping the bracelet tight, at once anxious to hear what her friend has found out and scared of knowing. 

_ Je t’aime... un peu... beaucoup... passionnément... pas du tout _

She has read it countless times since Roger gave it to her a week ago, she knows the words by heart even though her French is mediocre at best.  _ Je t’aime.  _ I love you. And she hasn’t said it back.

„They wouldn’t tell me anything about his state because I’m not a relative, but the receptionist told me he was still in surgery and his aunt was waiting on the third floor,“ Gayle says apologetically, squeezing Brianna’s shoulder for a moment. „Do you want me to come up with you?“

Brianna shakes her head and makes an effort to smile at her friend. „No, you don’t have to. You don’t have to wait either, I’m sure I can get a ride back with Moira later.“

Gayle’s concerned look is hard to bear, and Brianna has to avert her eyes after a second, her own gaze catching on the bracelet once again, where the glare of the neon hospital lights reflects off the words  _ pas du tout. _

„Call me if you need anything, okay? Anything at all,“ Gayle finally says and sighs before drawing Brianna into a tight hug. „He’s gonna be alright. You both are gonna be alright, you hear me?“ she whispers and Brianna almost chokes on the sob she forces to stay inside.

„Thank you.“ 

Gayle only nods, squeezing her hand one last time before letting go and leaving Brianna with the overwhelming weight of fear weighing down her every step towards knowledge and certainty.

Moira is sitting on a bench in the third floor hallway, but gets up immediately when she sees Brianna get off the elevator. Her hug is an unexpectedly effective source of comfort – the smell of Mackenzie farms and the reassuring Gaelic murmurs between words of greeting slowly grounding Brianna again, building a floor beneath her feet, that keeps her from spiraling deeper into the grand depths of terror.

Roger is already in post-OP, Moira tells her, a bad injury to his back. The doctors have updated her just minutes ago. The surgery went well. He’ll need extensive therapy and probably won’t be able to ride rodeos again. But he’ll walk. He’ll be fine.

_ He’ll be fine. _

It’s then, that the wall inside Brianna breaks and everything flows out at once – fear and worry and relief crashing over her in a gigantic wave of feeling and spilling in an abundance of held-back tears. Moira sits and cries with her, and pats her back when she repeats it again and again.

„I should have been there. I should have been with him.“

„Dinna fash,  _ mo ghraidh,  _ dinna fash. Ye’re here now.“ Her voice has regained its characteristic steadiness, her tears have dried, and her calm words mingle with Brianna’s crying until they both settle into a comfortable silence – tense with anticipation, but secure in each other’s company. Until the doctor comes to tell them that they can see Roger now.

 

___________________________________________________________________

 

„I’m sorry I wasn’t there.“

Moira is getting coffee and taking care of some paperwork, and Brianna can’t help herself, she has to say it. Roger, who – in all their relationship – always was a rock, a strong shoulder to lean on, a mountain almost akin to her father. Roger, who’s lying in his hospital bed, hooked up to tubes and machines, bruised and groggy. He deserves every apology she can give him.

„Ye’re here now.“ He reaches for her hand and as she links her fingers with his, the bracelet on her wrist jingles lightly. 

„I am. And I will be. I’ll be right here, no matter what’s coming, no matter what you choose to do next. I’ll be here. Because I love you, Roger.“

His smile is as bright as the sun as his thumb softly strokes over the inscription on the polished silver around her wrist. 

„Kiss me, Brianna,“ he says, and she smiles back through the fog of tears in her eyes and bends to kiss him softly on his chapped lips. He clutches her hand against his chest, his voice barely audible when he murmurs to her.

„Feel my heart. Tell me if it stops.“

She laughs - a low chuckle, deep in her own chest and squeezes his hand. „It’s not gonna stop as long as I have something to say about it,“ she finally answers, but he’s already asleep. 

  
  



End file.
